


A Couple of Agents Sitting Around Talking

by Taverl



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Gen, Homosexuality, Humor, Past Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-06
Updated: 2013-01-06
Packaged: 2017-11-23 20:45:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/626353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taverl/pseuds/Taverl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the ubiquitous 'Friday night at Scully's place doing paperwork.' What would happen if our intrepid duo finally talked? Really talked?</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Couple of Agents Sitting Around Talking

**Author's Note:**

> Written and originally posted in 1999.
> 
> DISCLAIMER: The X-Files, it's characters and situations are the property of 1013 Productions and Fox Broadcasting. 
> 
> Marie LeBiavant, Aaron Howe and Chrissy Lewison belong to me. Please do not use them without my permission.
> 
> This story contains discussion about, but no description of, homosexuality. If the idea of Scully or Mulder ever engaging in a same-sex relationship offends you, please leave now. Also, brief mention is made of past violence. Again, nothing too descriptive.
> 
> ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS: I grovel at the feet of my amazing friends and beta-readers. To Tracy for being a great sounding board - and for constantly insisting that I post my stories. To Carrie for her curious eating habits and all 'round ability to annoy until I 'get the damn thing done!' To Janet for her eagle eye when it comes to typos; her intimate knowledge of UCB; and for always bringing ice cream and gummi bears to our Sunday night hootenannies. And to Connie for her encouragement and degree in Political Science which has saved me from a potentially embarrassing situation. :-D
> 
> Anything you don't like about this story is my fault, not theirs.  
> Thanks kids.

A Couple of Agents Sitting Around Talking  
by Octavian

"Scully, have you ever had a homosexual encounter?"

Fox Mulder looked up from the case file on his lap and turned to face his partner seated on the couch next to him, being careful to keep his expression neutral. Every time he asked her these kinds of questions he got a mental picture of himself as a kid, knocking on the front door of her mother's house and asking if Dana could come out and play. Of course, the answer was usually no; and when it was yes, the game was brief, and the subject matter was always safe. So he knew what to expect this time: a piercing stare, the arch of one auburn eyebrow, and a reprimand to finish his work.

Dana Scully kept her head down and her gaze focused on her half-finished expense report as she contemplated her partner's comment. The overtly sexual nature of the question didn't bother her. Their relationship was loaded with double entendres and flirtatious remarks - virtually all of them from Mulder, though. She considered it an indication of just how comfortable he was with her, and she knew that he'd stop immediately if she ever showed any sign of being upset about it.

She also knew that he didn't expect her to rise to the bait. After all, she rarely did, and on those occasions, the exchange was usually brief. It wasn't that Scully couldn't give as good as she got - far from it. It was just that the timing never seemed to be right. At the beginning of their partnership, she was too concerned with simply establishing herself as an honest and professional agent, not the Bureau spy he assumed her to be. By the time he had learned to trust her, she realized that he expected her to simply smirk or at least let him have the last word - she always had before so why change things now? So she was content to let the words roll off her and occasionally grin or glare, as the situation warranted.

But tonight... tonight was different for some reason. He had never asked quite so personal a question before, and she decided she didn't want to let this opportunity slip by. Besides, this could be fun. She looked up from her report to find him watching her, waiting for her reply.

"Have you been watching 'Debbie Does Della' again, Mulder?"

Mulder's lips twitched slightly as he tried to suppress a grin. Well... it appeared that Dana just might come out and play after all. A small part of his brain wondered if this was a good thing or a bad thing.

"No, actually it was 'Emmanuelle In Dresden'. And the woman who played Dresden was amaz......" He let the sentence die a slow and painful death as Scully stared at him. It was all he could do to keep himself from turning around to see if two holes had been burned into the wall behind his head as her look shot through him. He waited expectantly as she continued to stare. Was she sizing him up, preparing for battle? He couldn't keep himself from fidgeting slightly at the thought.

Scully was starting to enjoy herself. It wasn't often that Mulder's cool demeanor cracked, but she thought that pursuing this line of inquiry just might do that. She mentally clapped her hands together and cracked her knuckles. Oh yes, this was going to be fun.

"So how would you define a 'homosexual encounter' Mulder?"

Mulder moved the file from his lap and placed it on the coffee table as he shifted slightly on the couch to face Scully more directly, and to give himself a chance to consider the direction in which this conversation was headed.

"Oh, you know..." he waved his hand vaguely in front of him as if that somehow completed his sentence and got his point across.

"No, I don't know..." she mimicked his gesture before continuing. "I mean could it be something like going to a gay bar? Watching an 'Absolutely Fabulous' marathon with a bunch of drag queens? What?" She was frankly curious about how a man with his admitted taste for pornography would define the statement. After all, they'd never discussed anything sexual to any great extent before and she got the impression that to do so - especially with her - just might make him uncomfortable.

For his part, Mulder was starting to reevaluate his choice of topics. Man. When Scully decides to play, she plays rough. The question certainly made sense though. The concise and analytical Dr. Scully would demand clearly delineated parameters before answering any question, especially one like this. Was she going to answer the question? he asked himself. And, if so, did her request for more information mean that the reply just might be in the affirmative? That was something he really didn't want to dwell on right now.

He glanced away for a moment, gathering his thoughts, and then returned his attention to his couch-mate. "Well, I would define it in rather broad terms, actually. Anything from a same-sex kiss or caress that engendered feeling of romantic affection or arousal, to engaging in the sex act with an individual of the same gender."

Scully gazed at him with an amused expression for a moment before replying. "The Sex Act? With your taste in visual entertainment, I would have expected your description to be a little less... clinical. You make it sound like a Constitutional amendment; it's probably listed right before the Sherman Act." She smiled at him as she reached over to grab her teacup off the coffee table.

Mulder smiled right back. "Actually, Scully, the Sherman Act - which was really the Sherman Anti-trust Act of 1890 - was the federal government's feeble attempt to control big business' monopolistic practices. Therefore, The Sex Act, or any other Act for that matter, isn't the same thing as Constitutional Amendments - which are also called Articles. Congress passes bills that become laws which are sometimes given the title Act, but Amendments are different."

She stopped her movements and stared at him for a moment, trying to look annoyed even though he could tell she wanted to smile. "Thank you very much, Professor Mulder, for enlightening me." He smirked at her use of the title as well as her feigned irritation. "Should I be taking notes? I'd hate it if there's going to be a test later and I'm not prepared." He chuckled softly as he watched her take a sip of her tea and return the cup to it's saucer. He saw this side of his partner and best friend far too little, and was thoroughly enjoying himself. Although his ego was warning him that it might get a bit bruised tonight, he figured it would be worth it.

"Don't worry about it, Scully." His grin widened and he gave her an exaggerated leer. "Just pay me a visit during my office hours and I'm sure we can work something out." This time she didn't have to fake annoyance as she gave him a long look and he simply shrugged in response.

Now it was Scully's turn to set her paperwork aside and change her position on the couch so as to make speaking with her partner easier. Her expression remained amused, but her voice took on a slightly more serious tone. "Have you ever played 'True Confessions' Mulder?"

Oh boy. Mulder suddenly realized just what he had gotten himself into and was beginning to worry. She really intends to answer his question, he realized. And he knew that meant that he might have to answer it as well. There was so much about his life that he'd never told her, much of it because he was afraid of how she'd react. Would she be appalled, upset, disgusted? No. No she wouldn't. After all, he reminded himself, this was the woman was not only fully aware of his video collection and magazine subscriptions, but was comfortable enough to joke with him about them.

Hell, he could probably confess a predilection for farm animals and she wouldn't think less of him. Of course, he thought with a silent chuckle, she probably wouldn't ask him to help her chaperone her godson and his friends on a trip to the petting zoo again. He started to laugh and covered with a cough. Actually, that was probably a perfect - if not incredibly desperate - way to get out of playing baby-sitter for the next outing. He realized she was waiting for an answer. This is what you get for opening your big mouth, Mulder, he told himself. "No, I haven't." He grinned harmlessly at her and asked her in a husky whisper, "You wanna play?"

She smiled and leaned towards him slightly. "Are you sure you're up for it, Mulder?" Her voice had also dropped in volume, the timbre a warm contralto.

His smile grew wider as he replied, "I'm always 'up for it' where you're concerned, Scully."

She rolled her eyes - okay, she'd given him a set-up too good to ignore. She looked at him again and began to lay out the ground rules. "We each take turns asking a question, any topic; and we *both* have to answer each question. Complete honesty, of course, or there's no point." She look at him again, but this time with more intensity and less playfulness. "Can you be completely honest with me about your private life, Mulder?"

He understood her question. It wasn't that she doubted his trust in her; he knew she was aware that he only trusted her. But he was a stingy SOB when it came to details about his personal life. The only time he opened up to her about the private Fox Mulder was usually when they were in some kind of danger or if it held some relevance to a case they were investigating. She was his best friend, his partner; but in the end, she knew less about him than his friends the Lone Gunmen did. Pathetic, he thought to himself, really pathetic.

Here was a woman for whom he'd been willing to risk everything to have returned to him; who came back from the brink of death for him; whom he, literally, came back from the dead for - and yet she didn't even know his favorite color, the name of his first girlfriend, his favorite subject in high school. Well, it was time to start changing that. His gaze became serious. "You know I wouldn't lie to you, Scully. More importantly, I won't hide the truth from you."

She nodded. While there was no question in her mind that he would ever lie, she knew he could just try to avoid a delicate topic by making some sarcastic remark. With this admission, he'd promised her the honesty she'd asked for. She also knew that she owed him the same level of honesty in return.

There would be no secrets from him about anything tonight. While the game was in play, she would not avoid any question he might ask. This thought made her more than a little nervous, but she was determined to follow through. With everything they'd been through with, and for, each other, it was time to finally start sharing some closely held secrets. After all, she trusted Mulder with her physical life - now it was time to prove that she trusted him with the details of her private life as well. "Okay, Mulder, you go first."

He cleared his throat and thought, briefly, about asking a completely different question. But he started this, and he wouldn't back down. She was giving him an unprecedented opportunity to get to know the 'real' Dana Scully, and there was no way in hell he would let it pass him by. He cleared his throat and leaned back into the corner of the sofa. "Okay, Scully." He took a breath. For some reason the question didn't roll off his tongue with the same ease as it first had. C'mon Mulder, he told himself, she knows what you're going to ask, just ask it! He took a quick sip of his tea and looked back at the open, expectant expression on her face and felt himself relax. This was going to be fine - titillating maybe - but just fine.

He set his cup down and turned back to her. "Have you ever had a homosexual encounter?"

Her expression didn't change. "Yes. Have you?"

Yes, he wondered. Yes? Even though he had asked the question, he just assumed the answer would be no. With her strict Catholic upbringing and rather obvious (at least to him) heterosexuality, he thought it had never even occurred to her to have a lesbian relationship. Well, it seemed he was wrong. Now he started to imagine the nature of the affair, but quickly put a damper on those thoughts. Don't *even* go there, Mulder, he chastised himself. Besides, you don't even know the extent of the involvement yet. Don't let your imagination run away with you. Again. He looked up at her and realized she was waiting patiently for him to process this new and startling piece of information, as well as answer her question.

He took a breath, closed his eyes briefly and steeled himself. Oh well. In for a penny, in for a pound. He opened his eyes and locked gazes with her. "Yes."

Scully's expression didn't change much, except for the slight rise of an eyebrow and a nod of her head as she looked away. To Mulder it seemed she had expected a positive answer. Jeez! he thought, what kind of a slut does she think I am?

Contrary to Mulder's impression, Scully was quite surprised by his response; she was simply better at hiding her emotions than he was. I wonder what the guy looked like, she thought. She was certainly aware that her partner was an attractive man; and this line of discourse had started her thinking about the sight of him with another attractive man. Stop, she told herself, this is not this time for libidinous thoughts like that. After Mulder went home, however...

She cleared her throat and hoped to God that Mulder couldn't tell the turn her musings had taken. She looked back at him and quickly decided on her question. "How many?"

Mulder's eyes widened and he couldn't keep the pitch of his voice from rising slightly as he said "Times?" with just a hint of panic.

Scully couldn't help but chuckle at the faintly hysterical note in her partner's voice. "No, Mulder. I don't think even your memory is good enough to hold all that information." She laughed harder at his shocked  
expression. For an admitted pervert, his sensibilities could be amazingly delicate at times. She also realized that she was thoroughly enjoying beating - or at least keeping up with - Mulder at his own game. She calmed herself and clarified her question. "How many men?"

Great, Mulder thought as he tried to regain his composure, she really does think I'm some kind of slut. For some reason, he didn't feel he could look at her when he responded. "Two," he said and finally raised his eyes to hers.

Again, she didn't seem surprised at his response. He wondered how many male partners she thought he'd had. Five? Ten? Twenty? Hell, he hadn't even slept with that many women. He felt hurt that she would think he would have slept with so many people, of either gender. As a result, his question came out a harsher than necessary. "How 'bout you, Scully? How many babes have you bagged?"

Scully was taken aback by the tone of Mulder's voice as well as the way he'd framed his question. She stared at him for a long moment; her expression a mixture of curiosity and hurt. If you couldn't handle this then why the hell did you start it? she wanted to scream. But she just looked at him a little longer and said quietly: "Maybe we should just forget this and get on with work." She turned her attention back to the files on the coffee table.

At first, Mulder thought she was trying to avoid answering him, but he quickly realized her statement was more a question that a suggestion. He'd snapped at her because he was feeling awkward, and she wouldn't continue if the situation made him uncomfortable. Good going Mulder, he said to himself - open mouth, insert foot.

He gently took hold of her wrist as she reached for a folder. When she stopped to look at him, his hazel eyes were soft with apology. "I'm sorry, Scully. I didn't mean to snap at you, I just..." He released his hold on her arm and let his hand fall back in his lap. He tried to smile, but it didn't make it to his eyes. "I just didn't want you to think I was easy or anything. Might ruin my reputation."

She leaned back on the couch and smiled at him. God, he was so fragile at times! "Mulder, I think you're many things - most of them completely contradictory, by the way - but easy has never been one of them." This time his eyes smiled when his mouth did and his shoulders relaxed as the tension he'd been holding there dissipated.

Easing his upper body toward her on the couch as his grin widened, his eyes positively twinkled as they locked with hers. "Oooh, Agent Scully, would you care to list some of those things?" His voice was barely above a whisper - soft and rough at the same time.

Scully was prepared for the teasing come-on. When you worked with a man like Mulder, you had to be ready for anything. But that still didn't mean she wasn't distracted by his closeness and the way is tongue flicked out to wet his lips. Unconsciously, she licked her own lips as she leaned toward him, her face mere inches from his. Matching her tone of voice to his, she said: "I think, Agent Mulder, that that's a game we'll have to play some other time."

While it seemed like minutes to Mulder, it was really only seconds before Scully broke eye contact, moved away slightly, took a sip of her now-cold tea and said: "One."

Mulder just stared at her, confused. "One what?"

"One woman, Mulder. Remember the question?"

"Oh yeah." He followed her lead and backed away, leaning on the arm of the couch. It was time to get back to the game at hand. One woman, huh? But when? Where? Who? Did you take any pictures? Where the Hell did that last one come from? he wondered. As he tried to keep himself from envisioning the scenario, he kept wondering how young she had been at the time. He cleared his throat. "How old?"

"Who? Me or her?"

"Both of you"

"I was twenty-one, she was twenty-two."

Scully watched him process the information, wondering just what kind of scenes he was imagining about her. Bad idea, she told herself, *very* bad idea. Considering his imagination, he was mentally casting her in one of his videos. She spoke up to derail his train of thought.

"How about you, Mulder? How old were you?"

He shook himself out of his reverie and thought for a moment. "The first time, I was twenty-two; he was twenty-one." He seemed to hesitate for a moment before continuing. "The second time, I was thirty; he was thirty-three." He watched her closely to gauge her reaction.

She thought about what he'd said for a moment. He was probably twenty-two when he finally was able to get away from Phoebe. It made perfect sense. That woman could send any guy running for the arms of another man. But thirty!? He'd been thirty when they were first partnered together. Could he...?

He could tell by the expression on her face what the nature of the question would be. She looked back at him and said: "How long?"

"Scully, I'm shocked you'd ask such a personal question!" he stated with mock outrage. "Besides, I'd never do something so crass as to measure it." It took considerable self-control not to laugh. He felt a little bad about not answering her question immediately. But when presented with a soft slider right over the plate, sometimes you've just got to smack that sucker right out of the park.

While her eyes showed amusement, Scully's overall expression was one of disinterest. "Oh please, Mulder, of course you have. All men do." She made a dismissive gesture in his direction as she continued. "Both flaccid and erect, length and circumference. And you probably have a name for it, too." She then favored him with her best don't-mess-with-me-Mulder-or-I'll-hurt-you-and-I-know-how-because-I'm-a-doctor stare.

This time he couldn't help the shocked expression that came over his face. In his head heard a little voice say: 'Pop fly, you're out!' He quickly regained his composure and replied: "While I honestly don't have a name for it, I would like to claim my Fifth Amendment rights regarding measurement issue. Especially since I don't think your delicate sensibilities could handle the idea of such an impressive organ." The humor and self-mockery were clearly evident in his tone and Scully had to stifle a giggle at the turns the conversation had taken.

She laughed as she said: "Please, Mulder, I'm a doctor. Trust me, there's nothing you have that I haven't seen. Many times." She shook her head and tried to quiet the chuckles that still emanated from her throat.

"Yeah, Scully, but you're a pathologist. Your patients are dead by the time you get to them." No sooner had he said it, than Mulder realized he had just thrown *her* a soft slider over home plate. The little play-by-play announcer was back in his head screaming: 'It could be... It might be...'

Scully tried to keep her expression as serious as possible as she faced him. "My point exactly, Mulder."

'It is!' The voice crowed in triumph, 'And the crowd goes wild.'

Mulder threw his head back and let loose a full-throated belly laugh. It was something he did far too rarely, and he was always surprised at how good it felt. He looked back at his partner who was laughing just as hard as he was.

Skunked. He, the master of the witty one-liner, had just been well and truly skunked by his lady-like, business-like, by-the-book, professional partner. As he watched her try to get her laughter under control, he realized that he didn't mind at all. If it could get her to enjoy herself like that, he'd gladly let himself be the target of her good-natured ridicule.

He found he had to wipe tears from the corners of his eyes as he worked to regain his voice. He laid one arm across his stomach as if he'd been punched, and let his head loll against the back of the couch. "Oh, Scully, that hurt. I think I might have to call a time out before I'm well enough to continue."

She was busy wiping her own eyes as she got up from the couch. Smiling down at him she asked: "I'm going to get us something else to drink while you regain your composure. What would you like?"

He kept his eyes closed as he played the injured athlete roll to the hilt. "Oh, don't worry about me, I'll be fine. I just hope there's no internal bleeding."

She chuckled as she walked around the couch, ruffling his hair as she passed. He heard her voice from the kitchen. "I've got a bottle of white wine open. Would you like a glass?"

He opened his eyes and stretched his arms over his head. "Sure, that would be nice." After unbuttoning his cuffs, he rolled up his sleeves and removed his tie. Scully returned with the wine, handed him one and sat cross-legged on the couch. Reaching over, she touched her glass to his before taking a sip. She watched Mulder closely to gauge his reaction.

As he inhaled the bouquet of the wine, his brow furrowed. It didn't smell like any wine he'd ever had before - roses and orange blossoms. Just from the aroma, he expected it to be sweet. 'Wine with training wheels', a connoisseur friend of his would say. He took a small taste and was surprised to find the wine dry and tart, but with all the fruit the bouquet had promised. He took another sip, this time letting the liquid roll around his mouth before swallowing. He set his glass on the table and looked over to find Scully watching him expectantly. "That's delicious. What kind of wine is it?"

She smiled with relief and set her glass on the table next to his. "It's called Gewrztraminer; it's my favorite. It's made mostly in Germany and the Alsace region of France, near the German border. My father was stationed in Europe for a short time when I was very young and he brought some wines home with him. For his first dinner after he'd returned he opened a bottle and gave us kids a little bit." She smiled at the memory, her gaze distant. "When I first smelled it, I thought it would be sweet - like communion wine. When I took a sip, I was so surprised that I guzzled half a glass of water to get the taste out of my mouth. Dad and Mom were in hysterics over it, and I was so embarrassed that I asked to be sent to my room before dessert!"

She looked up to find Mulder laughing silently, smiling at the thought of young a Dana with her face puckered up after tasting the wine for the first time. She reached for her glass again and took another sip before continuing. "Of course, as I got older my tastes changed and I came to love it. It's hard to find Gewrztraminer like this that's made in the States. Most of it is pretty sweet, but I prefer it dry." She held up the glass, the yellow-gold liquid refracting the light from the end-table lamp. "It's a contradiction: it smells like sugar and flowers, but tastes tart and like fruit. Dichotomy in a glass."

"Kind of like us," Mulder said, interrupting her ruminations. She nodded her head in agreement before turning her attention back to him. "Except I don't think we'd fit in a glass very well, Mulder," she gave him a pained grin at her obvious observation, "but you're right. Not only are we opposites of one another, but I think we're both rather contradictory people in our own rights."

Mulder took another taste from his glass, thinking about Scully's observation. He was flattered - no, honored - that she would share so much of herself with him. He wished he had enough courage to tell her some of his own childhood memories, but most of them were too painful. He tried so hard to hold on to the good ones (and there were good ones); but the bad ones seemed so much clearer and easier to remember, while the happy ones faded a little more each day. Someday, he thought, I'll share some of those with her. I promise I will.

But right now he was supposed to be sharing information from his more recent past. He stared at the amber fluid in the goblet he held as he began to speak. "The first time was right after Phoebe - as I'm sure you guessed," he started. He looked up at her to see her nod her assent. "It didn't last very long. Two, close to three months. The second one..." He took another sip of wine, bracing himself before continuing. "He and I were together for about ten months. We broke up just a few weeks after you joined the X-Files, actually." Scully seemed surprised as she considered his statement.

"Did my being sent to 'spy' on you have anything to do with it?" she asked before she could stop herself. She didn't think her presence would warrant him breaking off the affair; but the timing seemed a little too coincidental.

He smiled slightly and nodded his head. "The relationship was already winding down by the time you came on board. My realization that I was being scrutinized more closely than I'd originally suspected simply made me decide to end it sooner." He paused, as if considering whether or not to say something more. Scully waited for him to make his decision, hoping he felt safe enough to say whatever it was that was on his mind. He took a deep breath. Well, she thought, it appears that he does. "In many ways," he began, "that was the most healthy romantic relationship I've ever had. In fact, it's the last sexual relationship I've had that could be even remotely considered long-term." He shrugged and looked away, smiling sadly. "Maybe I should just stick to guys, huh Scully?"

She gently placed her hand over his. The unexpected contact startled him slightly and he returned his attention to her. She gazed at him fondly for a moment, squeezing his hand. "You should do whatever makes you happy, Mulder. Everyone deserves to be happy. Especially you."

He simply stared into her clear, blue eyes for a moment, absentmindedly rubbing his thumb over her knuckles. Her infinite kindness and patience towards him never failed to make him emotional. It took a moment before he could speak; and when he did, his voice was low and wavered slightly. "Thank you, Scully. You too."

They continued to hold hands for a moment longer, sharing a contented silence. Mulder effectively broke the mood when slowly released her hand, and turned his attention away to set the wineglass on the table. As he did this, he said casually: "And speaking of relationships, how long did yours last?"

"Oh, about three years." Her response was off-handed, but she watched her partner closely knowing he would be surprised by her reply. He didn't disappoint.

Well, said his tiny internal narrator - who now sounded like the Church Lady for some reason - isn't that special? This wasn't an encounter, this was an honest-to-God, capitol-R Relationship. He tried to imagine Scully arm-in-arm with another woman and, frankly, he couldn't. "So. Bull dyke or femme?" That piece of information would certainly help him develop a mental picture.

"Oh, God, femme all the way. Marie's a definite 'lipstick lesbian.'" She relaxed into the cushions as she enjoyed Mulder's reaction. He may not use facial expressions much, she thought, but when he does, they're impressive.

Meanwhile, Mulder was having trouble getting his mind around her answer. She couldn't mean... Nah. Marie? The stunning woman with the flawless complexion that always reminded him of rich milk chocolate, deep brown eyes and a face that could easily grace the cover of any high fashion magazine? He'd met her when she'd appeared in their basement office several months earlier. She'd been invited to present a paper at a conference in Boston and, on the spur of the moment, decided to swing down to D.C. to visit, as she put it, 'her best med school pal.' Mulder was instantly mesmerized by her low, husky voice, and the way the clicking of the tiny wooden beads at the end of the dozens of braids in her hair seemed to act as an accompaniment to her musical Jamaican accent. The three of them had shared a delightful lunch together, and he mercilessly grilled her for details about the young Dana Scully. Except it seemed she left a few details out.

He was still trying to absorb this information when he turned back to her. "Marie? Do you mean Stanford-instructor-liver-transplant-specialist Marie?" She simply nodded her head and he laughed. "Man, Scully, you've got *excellent* taste in women. Certainly much better than I do." And certainly much better than your taste in men, he wanted to add, but thought better of it. "Maybe I should ask you for your help in getting dates."

She shook her head as she responded. "I could try Mulder; but I'd probably just end up finding women who would rather go out with me than you." She held up her hand at his mock-stricken look. "No offense, of course." She said, the corners of her mouth rising in a half smile.

"None taken, of course." Mulder mimicked her semi-serious tone. He reminded his ego that it was worth the abuse he was suffering tonight in order to see his partner enjoy herself. And the new side of her he was getting an eyeful of didn't hurt things either.

"So, Mulder, were your boyfriends butch or more... flamboyant?" Mulder winced slightly at her choice of words. While he was willing to admit he'd had affairs with two men, the term 'boyfriend' seemed just a little too permanent. "One of each, actually." He decided to follow her 'enigmatic' example and not elaborate; at least, not without a little encouragement.

Scully waited a few moments until it became clear that her partner wasn't going to volunteer any more facts. One thing she'd learned about him was that, to a certain extent, he liked to have information dragged out of him. She thought that maybe it made him feel better when someone showed such an interest in him. Well if that was going to help his self image, then she was more than happy to oblige. "Which was which? Details, Mulder, I'm looking for details here."

He chuckled at her insistence and smiled at her. "Well, Chrissy was the first."

"Chrissy?" Scully was starting to wonder what Mulder was up to. Last time she checked, Chrissy wasn't a man's name.

He could tell she wasn't happy with that bit of information, so he rushed to fill in the gaps. "At the time she was what you would call a 'pre-operative transsexual'. She had the operation just a year or so after we met. Remember the friend of mine back in the UK who invited me to her wedding last year?" Scully nodded and remembered that Mulder had wanted to go, but then his father was killed and, well, things just fell apart from there. "That was her. In fact, I just found out last week that she and her husband are going to be adopting a baby soon. She'll make one hell of a mom, but the poor kid's going to have a terrible time when it's a teenager. Imagine trying to shock your parents when one of them used to be another gender."

Scully laughed. "Yeah, sneaking cigarettes just doesn't seem all that rebellious when you realize your mother could have been your father." Mulder smiled back at her. "So, Mulder, was this your own personal 'Crying Game'?"

He shook his head. "No, not quite. I had gone to a pub not far from the university to try and drown my sorrows when Chrissy struck up a conversation with me. I wasn't interested in a date, but she really did just want to talk; and we seemed to have a lot in common. After a while I started to noticed that she looked... odd, for lack of a better word. You know - her neck was a little too long, her hands were too big, things like that. She noticed that I was looking at her strangely and admitted she was a man, but that she wasn't trying to pick me up. I figured I was enjoying our conversation too much to walk out just because of that." He grinned. "Hey, I was a sensitive '80's kinda guy, y'know?"

Scully grinned back at him and he continued. "Anyway, we became friends and after a few months the relationship changed from platonic to... not. It didn't take long to realize we made better friends than lovers. She's really the only friend from my college years that I still keep in touch with on a regular basis."

Scully couldn't help but feel a little sad as she listened to the melancholy tone in her partner's voice. She could easily imagine Mulder in college: on the outside, the cocky American kid; but in reality, the shy, quiet and frightened boy who was alone in a strange country and desperately wanted to make friends, but was too afraid of rejection. And of course the one time he really let himself open up and fall in love, he had his heart cruelly broken by that conniving, selfish, two-timing...

For what was probably the thousandth time since she'd first met her three years earlier, Scully wished Phoebe Green was here just so she could beat her senseless. When she thought of how her intelligent, sensitive, kind-hearted (and obsessive, driven, often annoying, etc.) best friend had been used and abused, anger flared and her thoughts turned homicidal. Taking a deep breath to calm herself, she grabbed her glass and took another sip of wine while she collected her thoughts.

"Do you think she'd ever visit the States?" she asked as she set her goblet back down. He thought for a moment and looked over at her. "Curious, Scully?" He smiled at her and continued. "She's mentioned it from time to time; but if she does, it'll probably have to be before the adoption happens. I should ask her next time we speak. I know she'd really like to meet you."

Scully couldn't help the way her eyebrows reached for her hairline as she asked: "You've spoken with her about me, Mulder?" She wondered just what he would have to say to his ex-boyfriend/girlfriend about his partner.

For his part, Mulder was a little shocked at her surprise. "Of course I have." he said a tad indignantly, "I spend more time with you than anyone else, why wouldn't I talk about you with other people?"

"It's not that." Scully amended, "it's just weird to think you've been telling someone about me who I've never even heard of until now." She wondered why this idea made her uncomfortable

He shrugged. "Yeah, I can see how you might feel that way. I guess I just assumed you talked about me sometimes, too." He felt a little hurt thinking his best friend never spoke of him with her friends. He gave her a sad look, purposefully exaggerating it so she hopefully wouldn't realize he was upset.

She wasn't fooled and quickly placated him. "It's not that, Mulder. You should know I've mentioned you to my friends often. It's just that I've also mentioned them to you as well." He started to speak, but she cut him off. "Even Marie."

"You're psychic, you know." He said with a smile. "You're just too stubborn to admit it." She favored him with one of her best 'Looks' and he immediately pictured her as a female Mr. Spock - her delicate, pointed ears and peaked eyebrows the only outward physical difference. He decided she'd look best in a blue uniform. Besides, didn't the scientists always wear blue?

Her voice interrupted his musings. "What about Number Two?" she asked as she reached for her wine.

"Huh?"

"Man Number Two. The butch one." She finished the wine, then leaned over to place the empty glass on the coffee table.

"Oh. For a minute there I felt like Patrick McGoohan," he said with a smirk.

She smirked back, leaning against the arm of the couch. "Well Number Six," she said with a rather convincing British accent, "what is the story of your association with Number Two?"

He chuckled as he said: "Not bad, Scully. Although I never took you for a 'Prisoner' fan." His look was one of admiration for her obvious taste in television programs.

She propped her elbow on the back of the sofa, and leaned her head against her hand. "Well, Mulder, there's quite a bit you still don't know about me; but there's probably even more I don't know about you. So keep talking."

He smiled widely at her as he said: "Well, Scully, you'll be pleased to know that Number Two is someone you *have* heard of before. In fact," he glanced away from her as he leaned down for his wine glass, then looked back at her, raising the glass toward his lips, "you've met him." he watched her intently over the rim as he drained the glass.

He couldn't help but be amused at the surprised look that crossed her face, followed quickly by one of intense concentration as she tried to guess which one of his friends was Number Two. He could almost see the gears in her head working as she considered and discarded various possibilities.

While she'd seen for herself what kind of women he was attracted to, she realized she had no idea what kind of man might be his type. Was his interest piqued by some kind of male version of Phoebe? - now *that's* a truly frightening image, she thought - or was his taste in men completely different. She felt Mulder's eyes on her as she tried to pick 'Mr. Right'; mentally visualizing Mulder with any of dozens of men. She recalled the criteria a friend of hers used when trying to decide if a couple looked right together, and every man failed the test - she just couldn't picture them 'doing it'. Oh well, she decided, might as well start saying names until I get the right one. "Regie?" she asked, although she felt certain he wasn't it.

Mulder frowned. "Uh, no. I mean, I loved the guy and all," he gave her a little smirk, "just not in *that way*."

His declaration of love for his, now deceased, friend and mentor surprised her; she couldn't help but wonder if he had ever used the word 'love' in describing his feelings toward her when he spoke of her to someone else. She knew they loved one another; but did they love each other 'that way'? This was dangerous territory, she realized, and quickly tried to think of another potential candidate for Mulder's affections before she could dwell on it.

It was difficult for her to keep from laughing as she said "Jerry?" knowing full well that that wasn't even a remote possibility.

His scowl was combined with a look of distaste. "I'd like to think I have better taste than that, Scully.

"Oh, in that case," she said, grinning, "I guess that rules out one of the Gunmen." Despite herself, she laughed at his grimace.

"Scully, I may have no life, but I've never been *that* desperate." His eyes flicked toward the ceiling briefly, as if asking some benevolent Being to give him patience.

She continued to smile at him. "Okay, Mulder. Just examining every possibility like the trained investigator that I am." Her smile diminished as she returned to her mental inventory of Mulder's friends and associates. She was certain that he could tell by the look on her face that she thought she had a real possibility. She was apprehensive as she said quietly: "Skinner?" Her voice held an almost fearful note that made her wince when she heard it. Please, God, not him, she said to herself, or I'll never be able to look him in the face again.

Mulder considered for a moment. "Well, while Skinner certainly has his good qualities, I prefer a little more on top."

She relaxed considerably at his negative reply and responded: "You know, Mulder, there seems to be a direct correlation between male-pattern baldness and increased testosterone production." Her mouth twitched with the effort she made to keep from smiling as she stared pointedly at her partner's thick, dark hair.

He glared at her with mock annoyance. "Thank you very much *Doctor* Scully for that enlightening bit of information." Running his hands through the object of her scrutiny, he continued, trying to sound stern. "Keep it up, and I'll never tell you who it is."

"Okay, okay..." she gestured for him to calm down and continued to search through her mental inventory of candidates.

He was fascinated as he read her every thought clearly in her face. Brow furrowed as she thought of another name - Him? No. Eyebrow raised as she questioned each choice - Perhaps? Nah. Mouth thinned when she decided that one wasn't right, either - Maybe? Uh-uh. Forehead creased again in concentration as she considered the next suspect - What about... Oh my God. He knew the second she hit her target by the way her eyes grew wide and her mouth gaped slightly as she looked up at him - her face a study in disbelief.

"Aaron?" She hated the high, almost squeaky sound of her voice almost as much as the envy apparent in her tone. Aaron Howe was one of the most singularly gorgeous men she had ever laid eyes on, and she was not alone in her admiration - he even had the nickname to prove it. He was in his late thirties or early forties; tall, with a well-muscled and perfectly proportioned body; not unlike Skinner's, now that she thought of it. His face was classically perfect: square jaw, full mouth, aquiline nose, soulful green eyes; all topped with very short, midnight black hair.

It had long been whispered that Howe - now an ASAC with Bank Fraud, if she remembered correctly - was either bi or gay. He had never married and the ever-lively rumor mill at the Hoover building had never matched him with anyone at the Bureau, male or female. She really didn't care either way; but it would certainly be disappointing to hear that yet another attractive, intelligent, compassionate, and sensitive man was gay. As she watch Mulder's expression change from impassive to insufferably smug, she knew it was true.

"Good call, Scully." He applauded her and smiled. "Bet you didn't think I could catch the 'Greek God'." He couldn't help but tease her a little by using the title that the 'God' himself didn't realize had been bestowed upon him. After all, Aaron was lusted after by most of the women, and many of the men, in the Bureau. Even though he'd probably never tell another living soul about their relationship, he had to admit that it gave him quite an ego boost that someone as desirable as Aaron was interested in him. It wasn't that Mulder didn't think he was attractive. He'd been hit on enough times by members of both sexes to know he was physically appealing; it was when they got beyond the exterior good looks and had to deal with what lay underneath that most prospective lovers took off.

Not Scully, a voice in his head told him and he quickly tried to silence it. He felt no surprise that his mind had placed her in the 'prospective lover' category. They certainly did love one another, but the exact nature of that love was still a question. Until they both had an answer to that one, he would keep her in a category all her own - not 'partner', not 'friend', not even 'best friend'. Just 'Scully'.

She saw his pensive expression and wondered what he was thinking about. Deciding that was a futile effort, she spoke up. "So, how'd it happen, Mulder?" She was not only curious to know how he came to have a fellow agent as a boyfriend, but also how they were able to keep it a secret for so long.

He shrugged. "Aaron's one of the brightest field agents in the Bureau." She nodded her agreement. "So he and I ended up working together a few times while I was in Violent Crimes and we became good friends. Y'know - hung out, played basketball, all the things we do now, really. As far as I know, I'm still the only person at the Bureau he's come out to." It didn't even occur to him to ask Scully not to tell anyone; he knew she'd never tell a soul. "Anyway, we were friends for a couple of years and then, one night, bang!" He winced at his choice of words, smiling at Scully's barely suppressed giggle, "it just happened."

He paused for a moment, a small frown on his face, considering what to say next. Scully waited patiently for him to speak, knowing somehow that it would be important. After studying the cushions intently for a few moments, he looked back at her, his eyes sad. "You know the toll working in VCS took on me." She nodded her head in agreement, her expression solemn, as she thought about just how close to the edge being a profiler took him. Suppressing a shudder, she recalled his brush with madness during the Mostow case they had worked on not long ago. How did he stay sane through four years of that? she wondered.

He could tell by the unfocused look in her eyes and the downturn of her mouth that she was remembering his behavior during the 'gargoyle' case - it had claimed Patterson's sanity and came perilously close to taking his as well. He never wanted Scully to see that part of him, and he was more than a little worried that she would leave after watching him practically self destruct before her eyes. The fact that she didn't was just another testament to her acceptance and understanding; one more example of their trust. Despite her attitude toward him after the episode, it still embarrassed him to remember it; and it made him even more uncomfortable to know Scully was remembering it, too. "Hey, anybody home?" His voice was a mixture of amusement and worry as he waved his hand before her eyes, distracting her.

The sight of his fingers dancing before her eyes broke her out of her trance. She realized she'd been staring at the coffee table and turned to face him, chagrined. "Sorry," she said with a small smile. "I really wish I'd known you then, Mulder." While he had never told her the details of his time as a profiler, she knew he'd never had the kind of support he needed; the kind of support she provided him. 

He shook his head quickly. "I don't," he said vehemently, upset by the wounded look that appeared on her face. "It was a nightmare, Scully. *I* was a nightmare. I still don't know how Aaron put up with me through all that." He lapsed into silence again and turned his head to stare at the coffee table his mind swimming with memories of that time and the effects it had on him. The topic was becoming too much for him and he suddenly needed more room to breathe. Grabbing their empty glasses, he said: "More wine?" but didn't look at her as he started to rise from the couch.

"Mulder..." Her voice was half annoyance and half fear as she took hold of his wrist, stopping him. He turned to her and gently pulled his arm from her grasp. "Don't worry, Scully," he reassured her, "I just want another glass of wine. Honest." His expression was calm, but she could tell from his tone of voice that he was upset at her hasty reaction.

Straightening up, he walked to the kitchen as Scully remained on the couch, thinking about what had just happened. She'd misjudged him. He simply wanted something more to drink and she had panicked, thinking that he was trying to back out of their conversation. Nice going Dana, she thought to herself. Making a decision, she stood up and followed him.

He was standing with his back to her - hands flat against the countertop, head bowed. As she approached him, she reached forward and gently placed her hand on the small of his back. "I'm sorry, Mulder," she said, unconsciously rubbing his back in small circles. "I didn't mean to jump at you like that. It was silly of me, and I'm sorry."

She watched his shoulders rise and fall heavily as he sighed. "There's nothing to be sorry about, Scully; I would have reacted the same way if I were you." He was silent for a moment, then he shook his head. "We both know that I have a talent for avoidance when it comes to personal topics."

"And I don't?" she asked incredulously. She could tell he was still upset as she slid the hand which had been rubbing his back around his waist. Bringing herself flush against him, she hugged him loosely and rested her head against his back. Feeling him stiffen, she gave him a quick squeeze around the middle and he relaxed considerably.

For a moment, Mulder was in shock as he felt Scully press her tiny frame against him. Full-body contact with her was rare, and he wasn't sure how to react. "Mulder, you weren't trying to avoid anything," he heard from the vicinity of his shoulder blades. "You simply wanted to step back for a moment, and I panicked. Please forgive me."

He shook his head slowly in disbelief at her apology. He was the one who had tried to run away, and she was apologizing. Amazing. He straightened up, moving to face her. He felt her arms loosen their hold on him and, before he could reconsider, he had turned around and pulled her into his embrace, his chin resting lightly on the top of her head.

While he understood that her capacity for guilt almost equaled his own, he still couldn't blame her in this situation. He was the one who had bolted, not her. But he also knew that this was an argument that neither one of them would win, and he didn't want to debate this with her any more. Running his hands gently up and down her back, he sighed quietly: "Apology accepted." feeling even more guilty for letting her take the blame.

She hugged him tightly and then relaxed against him, her voice relieved. "Thank you, Mulder."

He opened his mouth to tell her that there was nothing to thank him for, that she shouldn't apologize, but then thought better of it. "You're very welcome, Scully." Impulsively, he placed a light kiss on the top of her head and squeezed her to him.

She chuckled softly at the feeling of his chin coming to rest again on her head. "You're just too tall," she said with a smile as she loosened his hold on him. He took a small step back and she felt a chill at his absence.

He straightened up, exaggerating the height difference between them, and bent at the waist until his head was level with hers. He smiled as he said: "No I'm not. You're just unnaturally short."

He began to straighten up again, but she grabbed him by the collar, pulling his face so close to hers that their noses were almost touching. "Well, I can wear heels. What are you going to do, walk on your knees?"

"At least I'd be almost closer to your height then," he said with a laugh and she released her hold on him. He adjusted his collar and stepped back slightly, still smiling. His laughter increased as he watched her stick her tongue out at him. He reciprocated and she giggled again. He hadn't seen Scully this relaxed in... he didn't think he'd ever seen her this relaxed, actually. If there had been a more enjoyable evening in his life thus far, he couldn't remember it.

"Since you're such a giant, why don't you reach up and get down a bowl from the top shelf behind you," she said, indicating one of the cabinets. Her voice still shook with quiet laughter and her smile was wide. She hadn't felt this good in a long time, and she didn't want the evening to end any time soon.

He stared at her for a moment and then said: "You're supposed to sip wine, Scully, not lap it." She gave him a glare, but the effect was ruined by the smile which still played around her lips. Then she opened her mouth, as if she were laughing, but no sound was heard.

"Very funny, Mulder. It's for popcorn; I'm hungry." Giving him a light shove, she moved to another cupboard and got down a bag of popping corn while he stood behind her, reaching over her head for the bowl she had requested. Their height difference was so pronounced that his body barely brushed hers as he retrieved the container. "Show off," she muttered, loud enough for him to hear and felt his answering chuckle when he leaned forward slightly, pressing himself more firmly against her. Her mind was occupied with the feeling of his body draped over her, so she was surprised when a large plastic bowl appeared on the counter of front of her.

He rested his head on her shoulder and whispered softly in her ear: "Oh, Scully, I haven't even *begun* to show you what I can do." The tiny shiver that ran through her made him smile and, not without regret, he stepped away from her before she could reply. His body was very much aware of her and he was afraid it would start to react accordingly. He was a little worried that she might be upset with him for being so forward, so he decided to lighten the mood. "So, do I dare to hope that we get butter with that?"

Working hard to keep her expression neutral, she turned and looked at him. She understood their constant game of flirting and sexual innuendo, but it had never gone quite this far before. By the look on his face, she could tell he was anxious about how she would react to his behavior and she quickly moved to put him at ease. As she smiled, she could see him relax, a grin of his own appearing on his face. "Mulder, you *know* that popcorn is simply a vehicle for butter and salt."

His response was a soft chuckle. "Ah, a woman after my own heart," he said as he stepped over to the refrigerator. As Scully plugged in the air popper, Mulder took the bottle of wine and a stick of butter out of the refrigerator, handing the latter to her. He refreshed their glasses, emptying the bottle in the process, while she poured the popcorn into the machine. "Recycling?" he asked as he held the empty up for her inspection. She pointed to a plastic bin on the floor at the end of the counter and returned to cutting up the butter and placing the pieces in a small pan. Mulder leaned back against the counter watching her graceful and efficient movements as she prepared their snack. "While I was with VCS, Aaron was the only one who I talked to about it."

She turned to face him, walking away from the popper so they didn't have to shout to be heard over the noise. Keeping her expression as open and encouraging as she could, she asked: "Didn't you all discuss things, or at least see counselors regularly?" It was hard for her to imagine doing what he had done without being able to talk to someone about the effect the work had on her. Delving into the minds of killers on a day to day basis was job she couldn't imagine doing, much less keeping all the trauma it would cause locked inside.

Mulder shook his head slowly. "No. Patterson didn't believe in expressing emotion." He shrugged. "Emotion was weakness, and he didn't tolerate weakness." His behavior during those days were still distinct in his perfect memory. Pushing himself to the point of breakdown on every case; determined to stop the criminal before another innocent person died. If a suspect he was chasing killed again, Mulder took it personally. Patterson let him. How many times had he worked himself to the point of collapse, knowing that he was *this close* to breaking the case. How many times had he handed Patterson the suspect on a silver platter only to be rewarded with 'Good work Mulder' and another case file more horrifying than the last?

The touch of Scully's hand on his jolted him out of his reverie. Taking a deep breath, he squeezed her hand briefly and smiled sheepishly at her. "Sorry about that." The concern in her eyes made his throat tighten and he forced himself to look away from her. "Uh, Scully, I think you might have a bit of a problem," he said with a tiny smile as he watched the last popped kernels of corn fly out of the chute of the machine, bouncing off the edges of the bowl and littering the counter.

She quickly ran to the source of the popcorn hurricane, turning off the popper and picking the stragglers off the counter top. Mulder had moved to the stove and pulled the butter off the burner before it scorched. Grabbing a wooden spoon from a ceramic container, he stirred the butter slowly as he watched his partner finish cleaning up. "Well, at least none of them ended up on the floor," she said as she nibbled on the freshly popped kernels.

"Not that it wouldn't be fun crawling around on the floor with you," she added with a smirk. His surprised expression delighted her and she could tell he was struggling to find just the right comeback. Gently pushing him away from the stove, she picked the pan and wooden spoon, turning away from him as she drizzled the butter over the fluffy white kernels.

"Why, Agent Scully," he said with a smile, "I do believe you're finally coming on to me." Without her having to ask, he'd grabbed the salt and moved it next to the bowl where she could reach it easily.

She stopped tossing the popcorn and met his gaze directly. Deliberately lowering her tone of voice, she said: "Trust me, Agent Mulder, when I decide to come on to you, you'll know." A small quirk of the lips, and she returned her attention to the task at hand even though she was dying to see the effect her response had on him. She added the salt, all the while wondering how he would respond to her teasing.

She didn't have to wonder long. She felt the warmth of his body as he leaned against her back, reaching his arm around her as he took a few pieces of popcorn out of the bowl. The feeling of his breath in her ear was the next thing she noticed and it was almost impossible to keep from shivering as he whispered: "I can't wait."

As quickly as he had come up behind her, he was gone. By the time she had calmed herself and turned around, he was happily munching away as he walked back to the couch, both glasses in his hands. She just stared for a moment, watching his slow, graceful movements as he sat back down and got comfortable. After grabbing a few napkins, she picked up the bowl and joined him.

Once she had settled in, he started picking at the popcorn, waiting for her to continue. He knew they'd opened up a whole new can of worms with this discussion and she wouldn't let him get away without telling her everything. It wasn't Aaron he was uncomfortable talking to her about, it was himself. And he had to admit, it did feel good to get some of the old demons out in the open. His wait ended abruptly when she said: "Did Aaron ever try and get you to quit VCS?"

Mulder finished wiping butter off his fingers as he replied: "Never. He knew me better than that." The moment the words left his mouth, he knew he'd phrased that wrong. It took only a quick look at Scully's hurt expression to confirm his fears. "That's not what I meant, Scully," he quickly amended. "Aaron knew me almost as well as you do." She looked at him doubtfully as he groped for the right words to make her understand. "In the four years we've worked together, have you ever once considered suggesting that I leave the X-Files?"

She realized where he was going with his line of questioning, and responded: "Yes I have. More than once, to be honest." He seemed to have expected her positive response to her question and it didn't surprise her.

"But you haven't said anything about it," he said. She nodded her head in agreement. "Why not? After all, working on the X-Files hasn't been easy on either of us." He smiled ruefully at his gross understatement, his eidetic memory quickly cataloging every threat and injury she had ever suffered as a result of their partnership.

For her part, Scully was immediately aware of the direction of his thoughts. The longest relationship this man's ever had is with guilt, she thought to herself. Now if she could only breakup that one, she'd be happy to call herself a homewrecker. Reaching out to grasp his hand, she said: "No it hasn't Mulder, but I wouldn't change a thing and I would never ask you to leave." His grip tightened and he looked directly at her with that pitiful, guilt-ridden expression that never failed to make her wince.

"Why not?" he repeated. He had never dared to ask her about this before because he was deathly afraid she would start to question her own motives for staying. And when that happened, would she finally realize that she'd made a mistake and leave him? That was something he simply could not consider; so he chose to ignore the possibility. After all, she didn't own the copyright on denial.

After considering her response for a long, tense moment, she continued: "No matter how dangerous this quest might be, it is a large part of who you are." She paused, searching for the right words. "And it has become a large part of who I am." She almost grimaced as his hand crushed hers more tightly. "To ask you to leave the X-Files would be to ask you to change who you are." She smiled at him and his death grip eased. "And despite the fact that you can be a pain in the ass," she laughed, "I would never change a thing about you." He chuckled at her response and started to look away, but she grabbed his chin with her free hand and brought his stare to meet hers. "More importantly, taking away the X-Files would hurt you and, even though I can't control much in this world," she cleared her suddenly tight throat, "I will always do  
everything in my power to make sure that nothing and no one ever hurts you again."

The moment she finished, he felt her hand leave his face and he bowed his head to his chest, breathing deeply as he tried to control his emotions. Her hand was still clenched in his and he heard her clear her throat as she fought the same battle with tears that he was. "Besides," he heard her say in a slightly unsteady voice, "you know we'd both be bored senseless if we ever had to get real jobs."

He smiled at her attempt to lighten the mood and gave her hand one last, quick squeeze before finally releasing it. Rubbing his eyes roughly, he coughed and cleared his throat. "Okay, Scully, you know everything about Chrissy and Aaron," he reached over, picked up his wine glass and leaned back against the couch, resting his head on his hand, "let's talk about Marie."

She chewed a few kernels of popcorn, washing it down with her wine. "I would have to say that my relationship with Marie was the first 'adult' one of my life." She glanced up from putting her glass back on the coffee table to see Mulder nod his encouragement. "I'd only had one lover before that, and we were both only 19 at the time." She caught his raised eyebrows and said: "That's another story for another time, Mulder." He smiled and she continued. "Anyway, there I was: not yet 21 years old, my family had just transferred to Alameda a few weeks earlier, and my nearest friend was in San Diego. It was a rough," she added, relaxing back into a corner of the couch. "I only had two more days to familiarize myself with my new city before classes started, so I spent the day wandering around and finally ended up at the Ben & Jerry's across the street from the campus. The place was packed and I desperately wanted to sit down for a while. I must have looked like a little lost lamb standing in the middle of the store, turning in circles, searching for an empty chair, while melted ice cream dripped down my fingers."

Mulder immediately saw Scully in his mind's eye: young and fresh-faced, looking more like a high school freshman than a pre-med student, licking New York Super Fudge Chunk off her slim fingers. Now *there's* and image he'd be replaying quite often, he said to himself. He heard her call his name and refocused his eyes on hers. Busted. "Uh, so what happened then?" he asked quickly and bowed his head as he reached for the popcorn, trying desperately to hide his blush from her.

She noticed the color suffuse his face, but decided to say nothing of it. "Then I heard a beautiful, melodious voice ask me if I would like a seat. I turned around and saw this gorgeous dark-skinned woman sitting at a small booth with open textbooks strewn on the table around her. I noticed that they were all medical texts, so I figured she was a med student like myself." Scully paused to eat and drink a little more, all the while gathering her thoughts. "I really don't think I was physically attracted to her at that point," she mused, "while I certainly noticed her looks, it didn't occur to me to see her as anything more than a potential friend." She shrugged her shoulders and grinned at her partner. "Let's face it Mulder, I grew up a Navy brat in a Catholic family. I think I was a junior in high school before I learned that 'gay' was more than just a synonym for 'happy.'"

Mulder laughed and she enjoyed the rarely-heard sound. "So, Marie and I ended up sitting in Ben & Jerry's for another four or five hours, talking about life, school, politics, ex-lovers..." Her expression became distant as she recalled the conversation. "She was very open about her orientation, and I tried hard not to act surprised, although I'm sure I failed miserably. I had met a few gays and lesbians during my two years at San Diego State, but they all seemed to fit the stereotype of queen or dyke. Then she started to tell me about her family," Scully continued. "Did you know her mother opened the first free women's health clinic in Kingston and her father was the French ambassador to Jamaica?" she asked. Mulder's eyebrows rose and he shook his head. Scully laughed quietly, "I had never met anyone with such an interesting history and I think that's when I started to develop a crush on her." She couldn't help but chuckle at his shocked expression. "Although at the time, I thought it was just fascination with someone who had led such an interesting life. She spent her childhood in Jamaica, her adolescence in the south of France, went to boarding school in Switzerland, vacationed in the Mediterranean, and did her first two years of pre-med studies at the University of Genoa in Italy. You can't imagine what kind of a dream life that is to someone who spent her life inside one Naval base or another." Scully stopped herself short and looked at her partner with an apologetic expression. Nice move, Starbuck, she reprimanded herself. With his family history, almost anyone else's life would seem a dream to him.

Mulder could tell she felt uncomfortable about what she'd said and he quickly spoke up. "It's okay, Scully, I know exactly what you mean. I've seen base housing." he gave her an exaggerated grimace and she smiled gratefully at him. He returned her smile and waited for her to continue.

"Anyway, we hit it off really well and became good friends. She introduced me to a lot of people, and was incredibly helpful with my studies as well. I knew she was planning to go to med school back East, probably Johns Hopkins, and she encouraged me to consider it, too. Even though I had made several intense friendships, there was a very good chance my father would be permanently stationed back East and I didn't think I was ready to live so far away from them just yet. I even found myself missing East Coast weather if you can believe it!" She shook her head, wondering how she could ever have honestly *wanted* to live through another New England winter.

Mulder watched her face change from amusement to something else, something that worried him. She looked upset and he waited for her to speak, but she remained silent. "What's the matter?" he finally asked. She shook her head again and sighed heavily, making his stomach clench with concern. "Talk to me, Scully," he said quietly as he leaned toward her.

For her part, Scully was debating with herself. She hadn't planned on mentioning this to him, but now that she was telling her story, she felt guilty about keeping such an important, if painful, part of her life from him. He had shared some of his most difficult and gut-wrenching moments with her, now it was her turn. Taking another deep breath, she looked away from the him to stare at the coffee table before continuing. "You know I was only at UC Berkeley for a year." She could see him nod out of the corner of his eye. "Well, I never told anyone, except Marie, why I left so soon."

Mulder's stomach was in knots with the knowledge that what his best friend was about to tell him was most certainly not going to be good. He had never considered why Scully had spent so little time in the Bay Area, but he was about to find out. She had been silent for several moments and he scooted closer on the couch, moving the bowl of popcorn from between them and setting it and his wine glass on the coffee table. "Whatever you have to tell me, Scully, you know I'll listen."

She nodded and was shaken by the effect these old memories still had on her. Taking a few deep breaths, she began. "I didn't date much - too busy with my studies to have a social life, you know? I did go out with a few guys, but none of them became serious. About a month before finals, I agreed to go out with Don." She closed her eyes briefly before continuing. "Anyway, he and I went of a few dates and I really thought things were going well. He was very good looking, intelligent, witty, and charming, and a physics major to boot. He was always a little aggressive, but when I told him that I didn't want to rush into anything, he capitulated and backed off." She grew quiet again and felt Mulder move to slip his arm around her shoulders and pull her to him gently.

She relaxed against him and resumed her story: "Until our fifth date. We had gone for a walk around the campus after dinner and ended up in a eucalyptus grove not far from the amphitheater. We sat under the trees, talking and making out, and then he got rough and when I told him to stop, he got even rougher." She closed her eyes and felt Mulder lay his head on top of hers as he began to rub his hand up and down her arm. "He held me down and tore my clothes. He was a football player, for God's sake, so he had no trouble overpowering me, but I kept kicking and screaming and was able to get in a few good shots. A couple of students walking nearby heard me and came running. Don knew he would get caught, so he settled for punching me in the face and stomach a few more times and then ran off." She shuddered and Mulder kissed the top of her head, muttering that it was okay now and she was safe.

Scully turned slightly and encircled his waist with her arms, burying her face in his neck. He brought his other arm around her and held her close but not too tight, so she knew she was secure but not restrained. It was killing him to think of her being brutalized like that, and it suddenly made him realize why control was such an important issue to her: it had been wrested from her before, and she never wanted it to happen again. But it had happened again, he reminded himself; it's happened many times since she began to work with me. "I'm so sorry, Scully," he murmured into her hair. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry..." He repeated the mantra as he rubbed her back gently, and she relaxed against him.

Scully simply let herself enjoy the comforting weight of Mulder's arms around her. She believed she had dealt with this particular horror years ago, but following her return after being abducted by Duane Barry, the nightmares were back in full force. She recalled vividly her first night home: Mulder had insisted on staying with her until she was ready to go to bed, finally leaving just before midnight, grumbling all the while. She had fallen asleep quickly; and that's when the dreams began. Every horror she had ever encountered in her years with the X-Files was replayed with terrifying clarity. And through it all was Don, his blonde-haired, blue-eyed good looks twisted with hate as he pinned her down atop the rotting eucalyptus leaves and tore at her clothes. She could hear his voice, low and dangerous, as he ordered her to shut up, stop struggling; telling her she was a liar because he *knew* this was what she wanted. The sound of her own screams had awakened her and she clutched at her pillow, burying her face in it as she began to wail. Great, wracking sobs, punctuated by screams and curses for those who had taken her and, thereby, taken her control. She railed against everyone and everything that had ever hurt her and her loved ones - Don, Boggs, Pfaster, the cabal of shadow men who seemed to control her and Mulder's every move. Through it all, she wished that Mulder were there to hold her, comfort her and make it all go away.

The memory of that first of many lonely nights full of fear made her shiver and she immediately felt herself pulled closer to Mulder's lean frame. He continued his chant of apology as he nuzzled her hair and she hugged him tighter, shaking her head slightly at the guilt she could hear in his voice. "It's okay, Mulder," she said quietly. "It was a very long time ago and I've gotten over it. Considering what could have happened, I was very lucky."

She felt him sigh as he continued to stroke her back soothingly. "What happened after that?" he asked quietly, his voice slightly muffled by her hair. She took a deep breath in preparation for what was to come. The attack was bad enough; what came after only compounded the pain.

"With the help of the students who had interrupted us, I gathered up my torn clothes and we wandered around until we found a phone. I called UCPD; they arrived not long after and took me to the station house. Then they took me to the clinic; I had a black eye and several cuts and bruises. Then we went back so I could give my statement." Not without regret, she loosened her hold on his waist and started to pull away; it was lovely to be held, safe and secure, in Mulder's embrace, but she needed some breathing room. With the exception of campus police, she had only told one other person her story and that was just after it had happened. It surprised her how difficult she was finding it to tell it again.

Mulder watched with trepidation as Scully gathered her wits about her. It was obvious from her body language that she was preparing to talk about something painful. The thought that what she would have to say could be any more traumatic than the replaying of her attack made his stomach clench. As much as it hurt him to hear these things, it had to hurt her far worse. So, despite his fears, he waited patiently for him to continue, keeping his eyes focused on her, silently encouraging her to continue.

"The police immediately went to arrest Don at the frat house where he lived. I guess when they got there, he was passed out in his room and his buddies all told the officers that he'd been with them the entire evening." She shook her head sadly. "They arrested him anyway."

She took up her glass again and sipped the now tepid wine. "The reason I'd gone to Berkeley in the first place is because my family was living in the Bay Area. But after only six months, we got word that Dad had been transferred again - to Maryland. I loved where I was and decided to finish my BA at Berkeley, so my parents moved back East in March, just two weeks before the attack. I was working and had gotten into school on a scholarship, so I was able to afford a place of my own. Unfortunately, that also meant that I had no one to go home to. After Don was booked, one of the officers took me home, and for the first time, I had time to really think about what had happened and try to figure out what I was going to do."

Scully leaned back on the couch, her head lolling against the cushions, shaking her head as she spoke. "I couldn't tell my parents. My father would have hunted the bastard down and beat him within an inch of his life."

"Sounds like a good idea to me," Mulder whispered. Realizing she had heard him, he smiled sheepishly and motioned for her to go on.

Grinning at him, she continued. "Be that as it may. I knew they would both be adamant that I leave as soon as possible and move back in with them. As much as the idea may have appealed to me at that moment, I was determined not to let this keep me from finishing what I started. So I couldn't tell my parents." She ticked off the point on her finger. "And even though I had some good friends at school, I didn't feel comfortable calling any of them at one o'clock in the morning, especially about this." Another point. "I didn't know you then." She rolled her head to stare at him, smiling. Another point. "So, I called the only person who was close enough emotionally and distant enough physically to allow me to talk about had happened to me without fear."

"Marie," Mulder said quietly as she nodded in agreement.

"I wasn't thinking when I called her; it was almost four o'clock in the morning in Baltimore, but she didn't say a word about it. I rambled on for almost five hours, talking about the attack, my family, school, my feelings for her, hopes, fears, dreams..." Scully laughed quietly at the recollection. "I had no idea I'd made her miss her first period class, and she never brought it up." Scully picked up her glass and took another sip of her wine. "She offered to come out to help me, but I couldn't let her do that. She was still in her first year at Hopkins and she couldn't afford to miss her classes. Just talking with her really helped and we ended up calling each other at least once a day from then on. I don't know what I would have done without her." She fell silent again, remembering how Marie's warm, quiet voice helped her through every day and night that followed.

Mulder studied her as she seem to lose herself in her thoughts again. He was loathe to interrupt her, but he knew from her earlier comments that there was much more to the story. She continued to stare at the glass in her hand and Mulder got the feeling she was trying to delay telling him the next part of her story. Although he knew this was painful for her, he also had found out first hand how sharing these memories had been such a relief for him; he wanted to offer her that same comfort. "What happened to Don?" he asked in a whisper.

Her brow creased and an expression of distaste crossed her features. This was the hard part, but she was determined to get it out in the open. Taking a deep breath for courage, she replied: "He was released on bail the next day with the caveat that he had to stay a thousand yards away from me. He complied. They began the process for indictment and kept me informed of everything they were doing. As I said, it was nearing finals time, so I poured myself into my studies. All my time was spent either at home, in class, or at the library; I didn't go out with friends at all, especially at night. If I was still on campus after dark, I made a guard walk me to the street so I could catch a cab." She smiled ruefully at her partner. "All in all, I was a wreck. If it hadn't been for Marie, I would have dropped out and run back home in a second."

"Did Don every try to approach you?" Mulder's voice was strained with worry. He didn't like the direction her story seemed to be headed.

Scully shook her head. "No. He obeyed the terms of his bail and, in fact, I never saw him face to face again." She found herself becoming angry at the memory of what happened next. "A week after the attack, the charges were dropped." She heard Mulder gasp softly and turned to look at him again. "Don was a scholarship student from a middle-class home; he had no money or power. His frat brother on the other hand..." She shrugged.

"As I said, all his housemates swore Don had spent the entire night drinking with them. They even told the police that he had gotten into a drunken fight with one of the other guys, hence his injuries. He was arrested and charged anyway, and he would have been prosecuted too, if it hadn't been for Brendan James III." Her tone held a combination of bitterness and resignation as she recalled the man whose intervention allowed her attacker to escape justice.

Sighing heavily, she said: "James' father was a study in cliches: eldest son of an old money family, president of the family's company, married his college sweetheart, had two kids - boy and a girl," Scully said with an ironic twitch of her eyebrow as she counted each point on her fingers, "divorced his college sweetheart when the children moved away from home, got himself a trophy wife, drove luxury cars, and lived in a mansion in the Oakland hills." She shook her head and smiled, then turned to face Mulder. "Sounds like the hero in a Jackie Collins novel or the villain in a Harlequin romance."

He returned her grin, silently encouraging her to continue, which she did. "And, the best parts: he was a Fellow and large contributor to the University, as well as having a son who was the president of the same fraternity his old man had been in charge of when he was at Berkeley." Her face was grim as she shook her head. "All it took were a few phone calls, and suddenly the evidence wasn't substantial enough to indict. God forbid one of the Alpha Phi Kappa boys be accused of attempted rape." After draining her glass and returning it to the table, she curled her feet up under her. "I was told that nothing more could be done, but that Don was on a list of students to be watched, so he'd never have the chance to do it again. That was it."

Mulder was shocked. "What do you mean 'That was it'? They just let him get away with it?" Even after everything he'd seen in his years with the X-Files, it still hurt to hear of the abuses of power that allowed evil to flourish with impunity. He though he would be used to it by now; he was wrong. Already, he was planning his next move. How many physics students named Don were there at Berkeley in 1985? If he was lucky, the arrest record would still be on file; once he had a last name and Social Security number, the rest would be easy.

"Cut it out, Mulder." Scully's voice broke through his musings and he turned his attention back to her. "I know what you're thinking, but there's no point; he's already in prison." He just stared at her for a moment longer, abashed at her reproof and a little upset that he had been so easy to read.

Shrugging in defeat, he said: "Hey, you can't knock a guy for trying," and was rewarded with a smile. He became serious again. "What's he in for and how long?" If there was a chance this monster would ever get the opportunity to come near her again, Mulder wanted to be ready.

"He was convicted on three counts of rape and two of aggravated assault and battery in '90," she said, her voice tinged with anger. "One of the women, the last of his victims, was in the hospital for almost four months. Even with parole, time off for good behavior, and the sex offenders rehab program he's participating in, he still won't be out for a very long time." She couldn't help wondering how things might have been different if he had been prosecuted for his attack on her over a decade earlier. How many women might have been spared?

Mulder watched her expression change as she fell silent again. Her brow was crinkled with a frown as she nibbled slowly on her lower lip. "It's not your fault, you know." He wasn't the only one who was easy to read. She quickly looked back at him with a shrug and a grin before reaching for her now empty glass, apparently disconcerted with it's lack of contents. "Got any more?" he asked after finishing his wine.

Shaking her head, she replied: "Not chilled. But there's a bottle or two of red in cupboard if you're interested. She began the process of unfurling herself from her cozy position, but was stopped by his hand on her arm.

"I'll get it, Scully; just point the way." He didn't want her to move from her spot on the couch. With her legs curled up underneath her, she looked more relaxed and comfortable than he could ever remember seeing her. The last thing he wanted to do was change that. She flung her arm over the back of the couch and pointed towards the lower cabinets to the left of the sink. Following her directions, he found a few different kinds of wine and grabbed the one nearest him. "Zinfandel okay?" he asked, looking back over his shoulder. She nodded her assent and he rose from his crouch searching for the corkscrew and any snacks she might have. Once the bottle was opened, he returned to the couch, bottle in one hand, a bag of fat free pretzels in the other. "I have no qualms with your wine selection, Scully, but we need to talk about your snack options." He smiled at her as he filled her glass and then his own, placing the open bag on the cushions between them.

Her answering smile was ironic as she responded. "This from the man with nothing more than a stale bag of Fritos in the cupboard and box of marshmallow Peeps in the freezer." Taking a sip, she let the burgundy liquid rest in her mouth a moment before swallowing, appreciating the intricacies of the wine. "Why do you freeze them anyway?" she asked, reaching for a pretzel.

He placed his goblet back on the coffee table after sampling its contents and leaned back on the couch, then turned to face her, his expression blank. "Peepcicles," he said simply, filling his hand with pretzels as he watched her efforts not to laugh. As her smile grew larger and small chuckles started to emerge from her mouth, he tried his best to remain stoic. "They're a delicacy, Scully; if you've never had one, you're missing out on a tempting taste treat." He couldn't keep himself from grinning as she began to laugh in earnest.

Shaking her head, she cleared her throat and said: "Sorry, I must have missed the article on that one in last month's 'Gourmet'." After taking a few more sips of her wine, she giggled quietly and sighed as she leaned back into the corner of the couch. She began to feel uncomfortable as she watched Mulder laughing softly to himself as he took a healthy drink from his glass. These were things that happened long before their partnership began; they didn't owe it to each other to share. But she did feel they owed one another the truth about things that had happened since they became partners, and she knew hadn't been entirely truthful. Speaking quickly to keep from censoring herself, she looked away and murmured: "Don called me just after Thanksgiving last year."

Mulder nearly gagged on his wine, sputtering into the glass. Wiping the red droplets from his chin, his voice was hoarse as he choked out "What?!" as he bent his head to try and catch her eye. That was six months ago, and he couldn't help but wonder if she ever would have told him if they hadn't begun this conversation. His anger at her omission was tempered by his knowledge that there were plenty of things he's learned and experienced over the last four years that he hadn't bothered to tell her. Anger, hurt and guilt battled within him as he watched her take another long draught of her wine while continuing to avoid his gaze. Why didn't you tell me?" he asked in a tight voice. She seemed to be staring everywhere but at him.

"If you recall, we weren't exactly on the best of terms at the time, Mulder." She finally gave him what he wanted and looked directly into his eyes, unblinking. The staredown was over in a flash as he quickly looked away and picked up the increasingly empty wine bottle. Sighing, she reached out her hand as he topped off her glass, stilling his movements. "You do understand why I couldn't say anything, don't you?" He nodded stiffly as he upended the bottle, sloshing wine into his goblet, filling it nearly to the brim before he could stop the flow. "Sure it wouldn't have been easier just to drink it straight out of the bottle, Mulder?" She was grinning as she spoke and he flashed her a sheepish look before carefully lifting the glass to his lips and sipping enough to reduce the risk of spilling it all over her floor.

He recalled that time just six months earlier when their friendship had appeared to be headed for collapse. It had begun with a seemingly innocent case involving two teenage girls in a small town in New Hampshire. Unfortunately, the cosmic events which had brought out homicidal tendencies in the girls effected everybody in town - including him and Scully. They never dealt with the animosity they had exhibited toward each other during that case and several that followed. Then came their first case after the Thanksgiving holiday: a young boy who appeared to spontaneously bleed from previously nonexistent wounds in his hands and feet. Stigmata - the wounds of Christ. Mulder was convinced it was simply the boy's desperate plea for attention; but Scully, his ever-skeptical partner, believed.

After three years of her need for empirical evidence, for proof, he couldn't help but feel hurt by her easy acceptance of the validity of the boy's claims. The fact that all the circumstantial evidence appeared to indicate her belief to be correct only exacerbated his anger. It upset him to think that she could so readily believe in the seemingly impossible, but not when it came to any of *his* theories. His hurt manifested itself in his attitude; he was terrible to her. He knew that he was being petty and childish, but he couldn't seem to help himself. Of course, she remained logical and cooperative throughout the case, which only made him feel worse about his behavior. Instead of simply apologizing, though, he became even bitchier towards her. Her theories led to the identification of the killer and saved the boy's life; and he actually found himself mad at her for being right.

It wasn't until the case was finally closed that she called him on his actions. They had argued, debated, butted heads, locked horns, and disagreed on a continual basis since the beginning of their partnership. But what they had never done was fight - until that case. What started as an attempt to clear the air between them quickly became a shouting match. They stood toe to toe, both refusing to give ground, as they hurled recriminations back and forth. He accused her of working against him, of choosing to believe because he had shown signs of doubt. What an egotistical asshole, he thought to himself as he recalled their argument. She in turn, told him he had been childish and petty; and she was right. Then she called him an 'intellectual elitist'; compared him to people who only liked something because it isn't popular, quickly coming to despise that which they had once admired when it became beloved of the 'unwashed masses.' He could still hear her accusations ringing in his ears, made all the more hurtful because, in some ways, they were true.

His already erratic sleep habits became even worse as he felt their friendship disintegrating before his eyes and he believed he was helpless to stop it. Every night, he relived the details of Scully's abduction. Except this time, she never came back to him; or worse, she was returned, comatose, and died without him. He lost count of the times his dream self sat on the floor of his ruined apartment, waiting for the phone to ring, snatching up the handset before the caller could leave a message and hearing Mrs. Scully's quiet, broken voice say simply: "Fox... she's gone." He would wake with a start, his face covered with tears and sweat, and reach for the phone, desperate to call her and reassure himself that she was still alive. Her number would remain undialed, his rationalization being that it would just annoy her and bring her that much closer to leaving him.

Every day that followed began the same way: he would arrive early and search his inbox for the Request for Transfer form he just knew would appear, empty his voice mail, anticipating the message from her that she was leaving him, and then wait for her to arrive to break the news to him in person. None of these one of these possibilities were ever realized, and a month later they began to heal their partnership. The catalyst: a man who could control the thoughts of others and who took over Mulder's mind, making him an unwilling participant in a game of Russian Roulette that ended with him pointing a gun at Scully, the fatal round in the chamber.

In typical Mulder fashion, it never occurred to him that he might not be the only one suffering; that, maybe, she was having problems of her own. No wonder that she hadn't felt comfortable sharing such things with him; if she had told him of Don's call, then she would have had to tell him about the attack as well. Hell, he said to himself, there were days that they exchanged no more than two words: 'hello' and 'goodbye', much less painful details about their pasts. If he hadn't been so wrapped up in his own personal miseries, maybe he would have noticed something was wrong and been able to help her. That is, if she was willing to admit that she was something other than 'fine' for a change, he thought.

"I'm sorry you had to go it alone, Scully; I'm sure it would have helped if you'd had someone to talk to about this." She watched as he settled back into the cushions, quietly munching pretzels and looking distinctly morose. With an exasperated sigh, she took another sip of her wine and rubbed her free hand across her eyes. This was the primary reason she had hesitated to tell him about the attack tonight. It wasn't her pain at reliving the event, it wasn't even her guilt at keeping it a secret from him for so long, it was the sure and certain knowledge that he would take her pain and heap it on his already overburdened shoulders. When they first began working together, she thought it was purely egotism on his part - that he felt the world revolved around him and everything that happened in it came back to him. But she soon realized that it was only the tragedies in the lives of those he cared for that he felt were his fault. For a brilliant, successful, attractive, caring man, his self-image was execrable.

Sighing again, she tried to explain. "We were both acting foolish and petty; we let the pressure of our work get in the way of our... partnership." While at first she wanted to say 'relationship', it sounded too much like they were talking about a capital-R 'Relationship' and they didn't have that. Did they? "That time was bad for both of us and we were both equally to blame." Mulder shook his head in disagreement and she felt herself getting angry with him. "It takes two to argue, Mulder, and I certainly did more than my fair share; I was closed-minded and combative. It was a rough spot; we got through it and we moved on. Okay?" She glared at him, as if through will alone she could *make* him believe he wasn't entirely to blame. He nodded his head meekly and she didn't buy it for a second.

To hell with it, she thought, God Himself could descend from the heavens, with the Choir Invisible singing 'Don't Go Changing' in the background, and tell Mulder that nothing bad that had happened in his entire life was his fault, and he'd thank Him for trying to be nice, but He was wrong. "Anyway..." she said, too tired to argue the point further, "the fact that Don called was certainly rotten timing, but it was still something that I really had to deal with on my own." She looked over to see him nodding slowly, his gaze still focused on the floor.

"How did he find you?" Mulder asked suddenly, his worry evident in his voice. If this guy were still in prison, how had he been able to track down one of his victims, his mind cringed at the use of that word in relation to Scully, and find out where she worked? If it had been that easy while he was incarcerated, Mulder feared what would happen when he was finally released.

Sensing his unease, Scully said: "Actually, it was his therapist that called me first. She looked up all his previous arrest records and tried to contact every one of the women he'd assaulted." Mulder looked at her, his confusion written clearly on his face. "Her approach is kind of like 'Alcoholics Anonymous' in that she encourages the patient to apologize to every person he'd ever wronged. She and I spoke for quite a long time about it. She wasn't a bleeding heart about Don; she knew his record very well. She admitted that there were convicts she counseled who were beyond rehabilitation, but she also believed that Don wasn't one of those." She paused, trying to organize her thoughts, grabbing a few pretzels to eat in order to buy her some more time. "Christianity played a very large part in making me who I am today, and even though my faith in Science my have superceded my faith in God, I never completely abandoned the latter." She rubbed her forehead absently; she felt like she wasn't articulating herself well and it frustrated her.

Finally, she turned to him, trying a different tack. "If you think about it, our penal system is based on religious ideals. I mean, what are the Ten Commandments but a set of laws? 'An eye for an eye' is the basis of the of crime and punishment; and the idea of parole says that once a person has paid for his or her crime, that individual has the right to resume life like a normal human being. Absolution and redemption in legalized terms." She watched his expression change as he thought about her words, beginning to understand her meaning. "If I am to remain true to who I am, then I can not abandon the part of me that learned about the divinity of forgiveness in Catechism all those years ago. Despite the horrible things he had done, I owed it to *myself* to at least talk to him and see if I could find it within me to forgive him for what he had done."

He sat quietly, absorbing her words, as he sipped at his wine. This to him was the core of Dana Scully: the ability to let go of past hurts and grudges; to forgive, to move on. He envied her that gift and wished that she could somehow teach him to be more like her, to accept past wrongs and live only for the present and future. How different a man would he be?

"So, after a long talk with his counselor, I agreed to call her during one of their sessions," she said, purposefully raising her voice in order to break through his musings. "We spoke for about thirty minutes. It wasn't easy; in fact, it was one of the most difficult experiences of my life. I'm glad I did it, though. I believe that he has learned just how much he hurt his victims and that his is truly sorry for it. I can't forgive him for what he's done to other women, it's not my place, but I did forgive him for his attack on me." Her tone was quiet and introspective as she recalled their conversation. He had even sounded different; the overly-confident, arrogant man she had known was gone and a humbled, guilty man had replaced him. After her initial talk with the counselor, she had by no means determined to accept Don's anticipated apology. Although what he had done to her was mild compared to the violence he'd inflicted on several other women, it had still changed her for life. She was no longer so quick to trust and she was suspicious of anyone who tried to get close to her. No wonder she and Mulder got along so well, she thought with an ironic grin.

Before the call, she had steeled herself for histrionics: tears, pleas, desperate begging, attempts to play on her sense of guilt. What she had not been prepared for was the quiet, honest way in which Don told her how sorry he was, how he now realized how much he had hurt her and how he never expected or deserved forgiveness from his victims, his family or himself. She had broken a little then, telling him just how much what he had done still affected her, how he had changed her life and irreparably damaged her faith in her fellow human beings. While the physical attack had been terrifying and painful, the aftermath was something she lived with to this day and would carry with her for the rest of her life. Once she began, she couldn't stop; she told him of the fear and the nightmares he had awakened in her, of the fact that came to doubt herself and her instincts. After all, if she had been that wrong about Don, how could she trust her judgement in regards to other people? A large part of her realized that she could very well be playing right into his hands; sexual assault was not about lust or passion but power and fear. By confessing this to him, she was letting him know just how much power he still had over her and how much fear he had been able to make her feel.

Although unpremeditated, she realized that she would judge Don on his response to her confession. Would he be pleased at her continued fear or would he really regret the damage he had done to her life? Before he or the counselor could speak, she amended that she *had* survived his assault and put her life back together. As she told them how she had found people in whom she had complete and utter faith and, more importantly, that she had the same degree of trust in herself and her instincts. Even as she said this, her mind conjured up images of Mulder, reminding her that she had not placed enough faith in their relationship to tell him about the experience she was now forced to relive.

"I'm so sorry, Mulder," she whispered as she stared quietly at the seemingly vast expanse of sofa that separated them. "We were going through such a hard time and were treating each other so badly that I didn't know what to do. It felt like my only option was to keep this from you and, as hard as that was to do, I still think it was for the best at the time." She was tired and scared as she spoke; not because she didn't trust him, but because she didn't trust herself. Every time she lost control of her body or her emotions, she felt an overwhelming sense of fear that she would never regain that control. So when she saw and felt her connection with Mulder falling apart during those terrible months, she grabbed on to her only lifeline: her self control. If she couldn't effect any change in the way they were treating one another, at least she had herself to rely on.

As the chasm between them grew, she found herself constantly thinking that all things end; all bonds are eventually severed; all trusts inevitably betrayed. Don had done that to her. And just as it was Dana that pulled herself out of the depression and fear-filled nights that followed her attack, so it was Dana that reminded herself that all things do not eventually end; some bonds remain unbroken; not all trusts are betrayed. Taking in Mulder's expression, she noticed more than sadness in his eyes: there was guilt of course, fear, a hint of anger, more than a hint of hurt, and a decent helping of something she couldn't immediately define.

Taking another long draught of his wine, he asked her: "When exactly did you speak with him?" He had an idea, but he had been steadfastly ignoring her, so the subtle change in her behavior went unremarked. Selfish bastard, he thought to himself fuzzily as he sipped his wine and stared at the half-empty bag of pretzels.

Scully sighed and followed his lead, taking a long drink before answering. "The Tuesday after we got back from Ohio on the Kryder case," she said quietly. She watch him nod his head and play with the edge of the plastic bag between them, a scowl marring his features. "What?" she asked, gently pulling the bag away from him.

He sighed as looked up at her. "I noticed something was bothering you after we got back from that case, but I was too self-absorbed to do anything about it." He shrugged his shoulders, giving her a wan smile. "Par for the course, really."

He opened his mouth to speak and Scully just *knew* that he was going to apologize. Again. Holding up her hand, palm facing him, she forestalled any comment he might make. "Don't say it, Mulder." He looked at her, confused. "If you say 'I'm sorry' one more time, I swear to God I'm gonna hurt you." She smiled so he would understand she wasn't upset, but her tone was entirely serious.

He shrugged, a small grimace playing on his lips as he spoke. "I'm... HEY!" His head spun slightly from the impact of the pillow against his cheek. Scully sat calmly, the weapon clutched firmly in one hand, wine glass in the other. She looked pissed. Amused maybe, but still pissed. "What the Hell was that for?" he whined, rubbing his the side of his face and pouting for all he was worth.

"Put the lip away, Mulder; it isn't going to work this time." She had to laugh at the shocked look he gave at her reprimand even as he pulled his lip into his mouth, tugging on it with his teeth. Unconsciously, Scully mimicked his actions, her mind going places that, if she were a little more inebriated and a little less careful, her body would willingly follow. Clearing her throat, she said: "You were going to apologize for apologizing, weren't you?"

His gaze shifted warily between her face and the padded square of fabric she continued to hold, poised to strike again if necessary. "Well, what do you expect me to say, Scully?" he was exasperated with his seeming inability in her eyes to do anything right. "If I just sat here and listened without comment, you'd call me an insensitive bastard; and if I try to comfort you, then I'm smothering and overprotective. Just tell me what to do and I'll do it, okay?"

He threw himself against the corner of the couch, exasperated and angry as he emptied the bottle of wine into his glass and took a healthy gulp. Why was it that every time she opened up to him and tried to share part of her past with him, they always ended up talking about him and his reactions? Did she think he was trying to monopolize the conversation by making himself responsible for everything that happened to her?

*Was* he monopolizing the conversation?

Scully watched patiently as he worked through his thoughts. After a few glasses of wine, his normally closed expression was easy to read, so she just sat back and enjoyed the show. After a few moments of brow-creasing concentration, his head popped up and he stared at her, looking ashamed and, of course, guilty. "Finally, the light begins to dawn." Her voice was light with humor and understanding and he grinned sheepishly in response. "The world doesn't revolve around you, Mulder; it doesn't revolve around me, either. But by trying to assume responsibility for every bad thing that's happened to me, or anyone else you care about for that matter, you also assume that you had some kind of power or authority to prevent it." She smiled fondly at him and placed the pillow in her lap so she could take his hand. "You're only human and there is far more beyond your control that within it. Trust me, you're talking to the queen of control issues." Her smile was wide and open as she gave his hand a final squeeze before returning it to his lap.

"I'm..." Mulder paused, smiling as he watched Scully grab the pillow, pulling it back in preparation to deliver another blow. He held his hand up to her in a placating gesture. "...*not* sorry for caring about what happens to you." She grinned at him and nodded in approval as she put the pillow back on her lap. He noticed that she didn't release her hold on it, though. "And I will make an effort to be less apologetic, but I make no guarantees." She appeared to consider his statement for a while before finally uncurling her fingers from the pillow. Not primed, but still ready. "Okay, now that I have been granted a stay of execution, why don't you tell me about Marie."

He watched, fascinated, as her expression quickly changed from amused to wistful. "Marie was great. She helped me through an incredibly difficult period in my life and I will always love her and be her friend." She gave him a contented smile that he could never recall seeing before. "That's about it, really," she said with a shrug of her shoulders.

Mulder waited for her to continue, but she appeared to have said her peace. Oh no, he thought, there was no way she was getting out of this that easily. "'That's about it, really'? That's all you have to say?" His voice was reaching octaves he never thought he'd heard himself use in normal conversation. "You have a three year - *three year* - admittedly non-platonic relationship with another woman, and that's all you have to say about it?" He put his glass back on the table, afraid that his increasingly frantic gestures would cause him to spill good wine all over her equally good furniture. "Three years, Scully. I may not be 'family', but even I know that, in gay terms, three years is a long time. I mean, I've known couples who've bought the house and the four-by-four, hung the rainbow flag and adopted a dozen cats before their second anniversary."

If pressed to describe the look on her face at that moment, 'appalled amusement' would probably be the best choice of words. "I think there may have been a few cliches you might have forgotten, Mulder. What about buying Doc Martens together? Or getting identical buzz cuts?" Her voice dripped with sarcasm as she searched her memory for even more worn out stereotypes.

"Then tell me about you and Marie and show me just how far off the mark I am." He grinned as she glared at him for turning the tables. "I'm assuming you didn't buy a house or a car together." She nodded her agreement. "And I somehow doubt you were very open about it, so that rules out the rainbow flag." Another nod, followed by a smirk. "And you're allergic to cats. So, what was it *really* like?"

His crossed arms reminded her of his mannerisms when he questioned suspects and she didn't particularly like the feel of being the one under scrutiny; but he did have a point. He had been open about his relationships and now it was her turn. "Well, like I said, I concentrated on just getting through finals after the incident with Don. I had already determined to transfer to another school as soon as the semester ended and the University of Maryland, while not necessarily as challenging a school as Berkeley, is still a good choice. And the application process was easy enough so that I was able start classes that fall and not risk putting my education on hold. Marie was trying to convince me to apply to Johns Hopkins after I got my BA, and I was seriously considering it. Add to that the fact that my parents were settled in Baltimore permanently, and College Park seemed like the place for me to go."

She remembered the myriad feelings surrounding that time: the anticipation of being on a new campus with new professors and students; joy at knowing that she would once more be home with her family; anger at the brutal attack which had forced her into moving; and disappointment with herself for running away. She knew she was making the right decision, but part of her felt that she had failed because she let one act of violence change the course of her life. "I moved back in with my parents, with the understanding that I would be getting a place of my own eventually. As much as I loved them and felt safe living there, I just couldn't stay for too long. They were always caring and supportive, but also a little too overprotective." She smiled at Mulder with a knowing expression. "And you know how I feel about people being overprotective of me."

He gave her a sheepish grin and motioned for her to continue. "Anyway. Marie and I saw each other every week and spoke on the phone almost daily. I was rather forward about being interested in starting a relationship with her, but she demurred." At Mulder's surprised expression, she continued. "She was afraid that I was running away, that I had been so hurt by a man that I was turning my back on the gender as a whole and she just happened to be the most convenient person for me to run to."

Scully shook her head as she remembered how forward she had been in her declarations of love and passion for the older woman. In hindsight, she realized she had no idea what she'd be getting herself into. Luckily for Scully, Marie knew better. "She was right to be wary of course. While I honestly didn't hate men in general because of what Don had done, I don't think I ever would have allowed myself to explore how I felt about Marie if it hadn't been for the assault. So, we took it very slow; our first real date didn't happen until the following year. We quickly became inseparable and I knew it would be impossible for us to continue our relationship, even covertly, without my parents finding out.

"Marie had this great three bedroom condo in the Inner Harbor area that her parents gave her. It was just as far from the university as my parent's house and it was only blocks from the train station. I moved in a few months after we had started dating. I had my own room, my own bathroom, even my own phone line; just like regular roommates."

She became pensive again and Mulder couldn't help but be concerned that something had happened during her time with Marie to upset her. She was quiet for a while longer, staring at some distant point over his left shoulder when she spoke again. "I think my father knew or at least suspected." She looked directly at him then, holding his gaze and understanding his silent question. "I never lied to my parents about going out on dates with men or anything like that. If either of them asked, I simply reminded them that I had a heavy class load and I needed to keep my grades up if I wanted to get into Hopkins. After a while, Ahab stopped asking me about men and dating; instead, he asked me about Marie. How she was, how we were getting along, if I liked living in Inner Harbor, if I was happy. When my folks would come over to visit and Marie was there, Ahab would give us both a hug before he left and he would always say the same thing to Marie: 'Take care of her.' When we finally broke up, Mom simply acted as if I'd lost a roommate; Ahab treated me as if I'd lost a lover."

She sighed, running a hand through her hair. "I sometimes wish I had told them about us; it was hard to keep such and important part of my life from them, but I was afraid of how they'd react. Besides, Marie was heading to Stanford after she graduated and by that time I had my heart set on Johns Hopkins. Living on opposite sides of the country is usually fatal to a relationship; so we just took each day as it came, knowing that our time together was limited."

She could easily read the confusion on his face and she tried to clarify. "After a year, we were behaving more like very close friends than lovers; it was a comfortable arrangement, but neither of us wanted that kind of relationship for the rest of our lives. I think..." She paused to try and organize her thoughts. "I think we both knew that this was an experiment for me, not a permanent lifestyle choice. I mean, I had men asking me out once in a while, and sometimes I was definitely interested. Marie had women asking her out all the time and occasionally she wanted to take them up on their offers." She shrugged. "We settled for comfortable friendship instead of taking a chance on something deeper and more passionate. It was good for both of us, though, and I don't regret a day. In different ways, it was a rough time in our lives for both of us and our relationship was very healing for her and me. But after two and a half years of living together, it was time to move on. Mare was offered a position at Stanford as she'd hoped and I was accepted at Hopkins. And that was the end of that."

Mulder nodded his head in understanding and held his nearly empty glass out to her. "To absent friends," he said softly and she brought her own glass to his, the gentle chime of the crystal goblets sounding loud in the stillness of the room. He drained his glass and she followed his example, mesmerized by the way a single blood red drop clung stubbornly to his bottom lip. Without thinking, she reached out and wiped it away with her thumb and he stilled at the contact. She realized what she was doing and pulled her hand away with a start and leaned back against her corner of the couch, looking up into his eyes. They were dark and wide, but also a little unfocused and slightly watery. He stared intently at her and she knew that it was time for this conversation to end before things got out of hand.

Breaking his gaze, she looked over at the coffee table and the empty bottle thereupon. Didn't they just start that bottle ten minutes ago? Glancing back at her partner, she now easily identified that mysterious look in his eyes she had noticed earlier. He was tipsy. She knew Mulder wasn't a drinker and he had made quick work of the Zinfandel, of which she had only had a glass or so. She smiled fondly at him, realizing that he had been trying to give himself the Dutch courage to listen to her tale of physical and emotional trauma.

"Mulder," she said quietly. His head lolled back against the sofa cushions as he lazily stared at her, eyebrows raised in response to her question. "I think we've had enough to drink, don't you?" He blinked slowly and nodded in response.

"Yeah, it's late and I should be getting home anyway." He was loathe to leave; there were so many more things about her that he wanted to know. But it was late, and they had made huge strides in getting to know each other better; he was grateful for the opportunity. He placed his empty glass on the coffee table and leaned back into the couch, raising his arms over his head and arching his back off the cushions as he worked out the kinks in his body from sitting for so long. He relaxed for a moment, trying to draw out the process of leaving for as long as possible when she placed her hand on his arm.

Even though she didn't think he was legally drunk, she was not about to let him get behind the wheel of a car. She would never be able to live with herself if something happened to him. "I don't think you should be driving and a cab would cost a fortune, and it would take forever to get one out here at midnight on a Friday."

He was secretly thrilled to hear her suggestion. Spending the night at Scully's - what could be better? Spending the night *with* Scully, his mind replied, but he steadfastly ignored it. Giving her a rather sloppy leer, he asked: "Why, Scully, is that a proposition?"

"Yes it is, Mulder," she replied and laughed at the startled expression on his face. She realized her hand was still holding his forearm and she gave him a little pat before removing it. "I propose that you sleep on my couch instead of yours tonight. Sound like a plan?" Before he could respond, she uncurled herself from her snug position, stretching as he had earlier, and stood up to start gathering the remains of their late night snack.

As she raised her arms over her head, the side of Scully's blouse came untucked, revealing a small patch of pale skin at her waist. Immediately, Mulder's perfect memory recalled the feel of her flesh as he knelt behind her in a darkened motel room, his face inches from the small of her back, and ran his fingertips over her skin, marveling in its softness even as his rational mind screamed that she was an enemy and probably trying to trap him. Suddenly, it felt very warm in the room and he wondered if staying the night was really the wisest thing for him to do. "Uh, Scully," he began, his voice cracking slightly. She looked back at him, from where she was bent over the coffee table, neatly stacking the files and other papers they had been working on. Unfortunately, she was facing him, which meant her blouse was hanging open, revealing more of her than he thought she meant to reveal. Ivory silk, he thought to himself before clearing his throat and looking intently into her eyes. "Maybe me staying here isn't the best idea."

She noted the quick glance he gave to her now gaping blouse before he spoke and felt and odd combination of embarrassment and humor at his reaction. Trust Mulder to feel bad about looking when I'm practically flashing him, she thought. She was touched by his attempt at chivalry, but was having none of it. "Nonsense. We both know you shouldn't be driving and it's no problem at all to make up the couch." She straightened up, her arms full of dirty dishes, and gave him a wide smile. "Besides, I fully intend for you to thank me for my hospitality by taking me out to brunch tomorrow." She was rewarded with grin as she headed for the kitchen while Mulder finished putting away the paperwork. "Go ahead and use the bathroom first," she called over her shoulder. "You're in luck, I even have a new toothbrush in the drawer to the right of the sink. It's all yours."

"Thanks, Scully." Mulder closed his briefcase and in an out of the way corner. Satisfied that everything was put away neatly, he asked: "Need me to dry?"

"No thanks, I'm almost done." He nodded and went to wash up. After putting the dishes away, she grabbed some sheets and a pillow from the linen closet and made up the couch.

"You didn't have to go to all that trouble on my account," he said as she finished stuffing a pillow into it's case. Whatever she was about to say was forgotten as she turned and took in the sight of her partner is his tight, white T-shirt and gray cotton boxers briefs. He was oblivious to her scrutiny as he carefully folded his pants, laying them over the back of one chair and hanging his dress shirt on another. He took his time arranging his clothing and Scully finally made herself look away before she was caught gaping at him. Down girl, she reminded herself as she pulled the afghan off the back of the couch and laid it on top of the sheets.

"Don't worry about it, Mulder, it's my pleasure." And then some, she added silently as she made her way to the bedroom. "If you're thirsty, there's ice water in the fridge," she said as she walked past him on her way to get ready for bed.

He turned around to thank her, but she had already disappeared into the bathroom. After grabbing a coaster off the end table, he poured two tall glasses of ice water and took one into her room setting it on the nightstand for her. He returned to the kitchen and proceeded to down one glass while standing in front of the refrigerator; then he refilled it and took it with him to the couch. Pulling back the covers, he was unsurprised at the pale blue pinstripe pattern of the sheets; no frills and flowers for his partner. He smiled and climbed between the soft cotton, inhaling the rare scent of fresh linen that hadn't been cleaned by a hotel laundry service. It almost made him want to get a bed again. Trying to get situated wasn't easy; Scully had given him two pillows, so he sat back against them on one end of the couch and slid down until his feet were braced on the opposite end. He wasn't fully horizontal, but he was comfortable.

"Sorry I don't have a longer sofa," he heard her chuckle from the bedroom doorway. Her pajamas were lavender silk, cut to look like men's sleepwear, but there was nothing manly about them. She walked into the living room, a half empty glass in her hand. He simply stared as she made her way past the couch on the way to the kitchen, watching the fabric glide over her limbs as she moved. "Thanks for the water, Mulder; alcohol does tend to dehydrate you." She returned after refilling her glass and stood behind the couch, looking concerned. "Will you be comfortable enough? I can easily sleep out here if you want to take the bed." She grimaced as she realized the memories her offer would conjure up. Mulder had slept in her bed once before - the night his father had been murdered.

He smiled at the contrite look on her face. While the circumstances might have been tragic, the simple comfort he found in sleeping in her bed was something he looked on with joy, not pain. "That's okay, Scully. I'm really very comfortable, but thanks for the offer." She smiled back at him and went to the door to check the locks, turning off the lights as she passed. The only illumination came from the door to her bedroom. Almost like a beacon, he thought wistfully.

His attention was focused on the door, so the light touch of her hand on his head surprised him. She stood again behind the couch and as he turned his head to look up at her, she leaned down and kissed him lightly on the forehead. "Sweet dreams, Mulder."

She was almost gone before he found his voice. "Scully?" he called out softly.

Turning around, she leaned against the door frame. "Yes?" Her voice was equally quiet.

"Would you do it again?" Even back lit by her bedroom light, he could see the bemused expression on her face and he smiled. "Not the goodnight kiss; although it *was* nice." He heard her chuckle and he grinned wider.

"Do you mean if I had it to do over, would I have dated Marie, or would I consider dating another woman now?"

"Another woman."

She thought for a moment. If an intelligent, attractive woman were to ask her out, how would she react? It had been so long since she'd been on a date of any kind, that she found it hard to predict her response. After a few moments she said: "Well, I'm not *looking* to become involved in another same-sex relationship. But if the opportunity arose, I don't think I'd dismiss it out of hand." He laughed softly at her stilted phrasing and she responded in kind. "How about you, Mulder?"

He gave it a moment's consideration, staring at his hands. Would he go out with a man again? Dating and romantic relationships seemed so foreign to him these days, that he wasn't sure what he'd do. He looked up from his lap to see her watching him intently, the light filtering through her hair creating a halo. Smiling again at the image of Scully as an angel, he said: "I think you summed it up nicely, Scully; I couldn't have said it better myself." She absorbed his answer for a moment and nodded.

He watched her retreat to her bedroom, but she didn't close the door. The light was extinguished and he heard the faint sounds of her moving in the other room, setting down her water glass, and climbing into bed. It was easy for him to picture her snuggling into her soft bed, trying to find the most comfortable position. After a few moments, there was silence and he whispered: "Goodnight, Scully."

He closed his eyes; the powerful combination of good wine, soft sheets and Scully's proximity making him feel relaxed and safe. Then he heard her voice - a barely audible sigh, as if she were speaking while in the midst of a dream. It was the last thing he heard as he drifted off to sleep and he smiled at the sound.

"Goodnight, Mulder."

THE END


End file.
